


Not Dark Yet (the Skating on Thin Ice Remix)

by CaitN



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: remixredux09, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaitN/pseuds/CaitN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories are one thing we have little - if any - control over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Dark Yet (the Skating on Thin Ice Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nwhepcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwhepcat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [untitled ficlet](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3024) by nwhepcat. 



> Author's Notes: Spoilers through episode 6x07, "Family Matters." Takes place sometime between then and 6x11, "Appointment in Samarra." I'm no Supernatual expert and I don't own the series nor the CW network. Thanks to wanderingoutlaw for the beta.

**Not Dark Yet (the Skating on Thin Ice Remix)**

 

Shadows are falling and I've been here all day  
It's too hot to sleep, time is running away  
Feel like my soul has turned into steel  
I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal  
There's not even room enough to be anywhere  
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there.  
\- Bob Dylan

What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen. ~Cynthia Ozick

* * *

The dream always starts the same - he's at the championship game, standing bent-legged, bat resting gently on his shoulder. He looks at the ball, the winning run, poised at third base. His parents sit proudly in the crowd. Mom holds Sammy on her lap, sun shining on his head like a dark halo. His dad smiles and nods.

Dean eyes the ball sitting on the tee, and just as he's about to swing, everything goes apeshit. His mother screams as the yellow-eyed demon rips Sammy from her arms. She bursts into flames while the demon looks at him and winks.

Or sometimes he hits the ball straight down right field, only to watch as it transforms into a Hellhound. At least from the sounds, and the way it tears itself through his friends and teammates, he assumes it's a Hellhound. It ends up in the stands with his family, as he watches in horror, rooted to the spot.

Once or twice, in the instant his bat connects with the ball, he's transported back to Hell, Alastair grinning down at him with excitement, like a kid who's just found his older brother's Playboy.

He wakes up, drenched in sweat, heart racing, the taste of fear clogging his throat.

 

* * *

 

"Memory Demons, huh?" Dean juggles the phone between shoulder and ear as he powers up Sam's laptop. "You have a million books, and you're calling me for help?"

 _I'm not at home; I'm helping Rufus. Some gated community in Flintlock, Maine._

"That's only a couple hundred miles away. Do you need any help?"

 _Yeah, I need you to tell me about a creature that steals memories._

Dean holds the phone away from his ear and mouths a few words his mother would have soaped his mouth for saying.

"I'm looking, I'm looking. You know Sam's better at this."

 _Then put Sam on the phone._

"Can't: he's getting burgers. You're stuck with me." He taps a few keys, going to one of the saved websites Sam frequented. Thank God for 'favorites'.

"There's not much. " He squints at the screen. "Mnemosyne is the Greek goddess of Memory. Mother of the Muses. She was a Titaness, parents were Cronus and Gaia. That's about it."

 _That's it? That's all you got?_

"In Roman mythology she was known as Moneta."

 _You're killin' me, boy._

"Hold your horses; I'm not Larry Page." Dean clicks on another link and tries to read quickly. "This might be something. Three years ago in Ashgrove, New Hampshire, about a dozen people were diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's, which then turned into full blown amnesia. Couldn't remember jack. All of them were young - early to mid-twenties - in perfect health. Sounds like what you're having now?"

 _Pretty much. Any other details?_

"A woman was sought for questioning - tall red-head - but no name and never found. Could be some strange cross between that Mnemosyne chick and a succubus?"

 _I guess so. Stranger things have happened. Could be she steals memories to feed her kids. Hell, maybe it's the whole lot of them. But I'm just speculatin'. It's a start. Rufus and I'll call in a couple of favors and see if we can't pin it down. I'll be in touch._

Dean closes the phone and leans back in the chair. He looks at his watch. Sam should be back any minute. He glances at the laptop and wonders how long it would take to download some mediocre porn.

 

* * *

 

They celebrate staking a nest of vampires at some Mom-N-Pop diner in Ulah, North Carolina.

 _Nice, normal vamps._

The thought makes Dean shake his head. He never thought that vampires would top his "happy list."

The eggs are runny, the coffee strong enough to fell a rhino, but Dean doesn't care. Sam doesn't seem to care either. It's hard to tell these days. Soulless Sam reminds him of Death. He does his job because it's expected of him - he doesn't necessarily like it, but he doesn't hate it either. It just is.

 

* * *

 

Sam flips on a switch bathing the hotel room in weak yellow light. Dean's sitting on the bed, hands dangling between his knees. "What are you doing sitting here in the dark?"

"Thinking."

Sam frowns and tosses the key onto a table. "About what?"

Dean shrugs. "The usual. Destiny. Fate. Demons. How to throw a curveball. The inextricable relationships in our lives that are neither accidental nor somehow within our control, either."

"Ooo-kay." Sam starts looking around for the empty beer bottles.

"Just ignore me." Dean shakes off the memories of wasted chances and 'what could have been's'. "Did you get a lead on the _Empusa_?"

"Yeah, Bobby said to look up this guy in Harrisburg. He runs an electronics shop on Second Avenue."

Dean gets to his feet and pulls a duffle from under the bed. "Give me two minutes."

 

* * *

 

Dean leans on the railing, watching the skaters on the ice below. A father kneels by his son, lacing the boy's skates. He helps his son to his feet, the boy wobbling like a newborn colt, as a pretty blonde woman stands nearby, taking pictures.

"You're doing great, buddy!" the man says.

Dean remembers his dad's reddened hands clasping his own mittened ones tightly as he urges Dean onto the ice.

He hears the silvery laughter of his mom watching from the sidelines, video camera in hand. Those images burned up now, along with Mom. One perfect day, his mom laughing and calling encouragement, his dad happy, Dean himself a little scared but growing more confident as Dad taught him to keep his balance.

 _Don't worry about falling, son; I'll be right here to pick you up._

And he was, every time.

That evening, the three of them sat near the bonfire, toasting marshmallows and drinking hot cocoa.

He hasn't thought of this in years, maybe ten or more.

A tall, auburn-haired woman bumps into him, knocking him out of his reverie.

"Sorry!" she apologizes, tugging a scarf snugly around her neck. "I must have been in my own little world."

Something in her eyes makes his breath hitch in his throat. It's gone in an instant, and he shakes his head, grinning. "No harm no foul."

She brushes the hair at his temple - a snowflake, a speck of dirt?

"Have a good day." And she's off, swallowed up in the crowd.

Sam joins him at the railing. "Conley knows something, but he's not saying. I say we-- Dean?"

He rouses himself and looks at his brother. "Yeah?"

"Is everything okay? You were spaced out just now."

Dean tries to remember what he was doing - thinking - before Sam joined him. He comes up blank.

"I'm good. What's the plan?"

 

 **FIN**


End file.
